


daylight

by msmerlin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Establish Relationship, Evil Author Day, Evil Author Day 2021, Magic, Minister for Magic Hermione, Multi, Poly, Power Trio, Smut, Supreme Mugwump Draco, Triad - Freeform, Unseelie King - Freeform, fae, head auror harry, poly power triad, uncoming works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29473581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/pseuds/msmerlin
Summary: She was late.She was fucking late.It wasn’t like she didn’t try to end the meeting on time. She had, really! But they were finally making progress on upsurge in magical related anomalies that had begun to occur in growing numbers and she couldn’t call it short, could she?What would she have even said?Sorry, Sam. I’ve got to pop out, my husbands are making sea bass, and I’ve been so bloody busy lately I really ought to be home.It wasn’t exactly professional, never-mind the fact that her continued marriage to two wizards was still somewhat controversial outside of the European and British Ministries.or the one in which Hermione, Harry and Draco save the world.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/ Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, harry potter x hermione granger x draco malfoy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 96





	daylight

**Author's Note:**

> **warning: this chapter is NSFW**  
> 

It had taken Hermione three months to come to terms with the fact she was going to be forced to marry due to some stupid law, and it had taken an additional two to get over the initial shock of whom she had been paired with. But falling into bed with her husbands?

Well that was something she’d found bliss in on the very first night and since then to say she’d been more than keen to find herself on the receiving end of the wicked attention was an understatement.

She had never really thought herself a sexual being before, having only had two partners prior to her marriage, but she’d quickly learned that it was inexperience that had left her previous carnal relations woefully underwhelming.

“ _ Oh gods.” _ Her fingers slipped between silken strands of blond hair, curling fistfuls of the artfully coiffed hair, ruining any sort of semblance of order her younger husband's had when he walked into her office. “Don’t stop.”

It wasn’t a request, though the demand was far from forceful. She’d been having what could only be described as a  _ trying _ day. She’d just taken office only seven months prior, youngest Minister for Magic in British history, and it appeared the foreign dignitaries were intent on making sure that she was truly qualified for office.

Stocking feet slid along the edge of her desk, the slick nylon offering zero means of traction as she tried to arch her hips off her office chair so her husband’s tongue could slide deeper inside her. 

His tongue twisted and curled inside her cunt, pulling forth new utterances of filth that were whispered into her office—forbidden and hasty, she knew she was likely not the first Minister for Magic to shag someone in her office, though she doubted that it was advisable because she was technically on the job, and her husband was  _ technically _ her peer. 

“Stay quiet, Granger.” He spoke into her skin, lips brushing directly over her clit, sending jolts of energy snapping down her spine with each delicate touch. His fingers dug into her thighs, divoting in the fleshy skin, and hopefully creating bruises she’d be able to cherish for the days to come.

She wouldn’t be able to, she knew he knew she was practically incapable of staying still. They’d known each other for nearing two decades, and been married for four years, it was surely no surprise. 

“Draco,  _ please _ .” Her blouse pinched under her as she arched her spine, breasts taut against the slinky fabric, straining the buttons that held the garment together. “I’m so close.”

Waking up to find herself in Draco’s arms still felt surreal, but the mornings she’d wake up to find her husbands curled around each other? Well those still managed to take her breath away.

He lifted his head despite her hands in his hair, and let a slow growl slip up his throat as he yanked his tie free from the perfect double windsor he’d tied hours earlier. “You make this impossible sometimes, you know that?” pulling one end, he began to wind the monochrome tie around his fist, gray eyes blazing at her with a debaucherous promise.

His sides brushed against her thighs as he leaned forward, slowly sliding his fingers free from the looped tie and he pressed the fabric to her lips, brows lifting. “Open.” 

She didn’t dare defy him—not because she didn’t want to, because the old Gods only knew how much fun it was to shag him when they bickered, but mainly because she was so bloody close she wasn’t certain she would be able to sit through the meeting with the Executive Committee on Blast-Ended Skrewt Welfare if she didn’t fucking come.

Inch by inch, he pushed the tie into her mouth until no room remained. The ends of the tie hung from her lips, trailing over her heaving chest. As embarrassing as it was to have a tie her mother-in-law gifted him spilling from her mouth to muffle the wanton noises she’d been incapable of preventing, she couldn’t find it within herself to care what she looked like.

Especially not when he lowered his face back down to her cunt.

His tongue lapped the length of her slit, tip toying with her clit like it was a treasure to behold as her eyes rolled back in her head. Fingers curled around the arms of her chair, nails digging into the aged wood as she lost herself under the rising tide of bliss.

Each stroke of his tongue brought her closer, edging her near a long needed oblivion, but it wasn’t until his fingers—long, and nimble, like he’d be designed specifically for her pleasure, pushed in her aching cunt, that she finally fell over the edge.

Her feet slipped along the edge of the desk, spine curling as if she were a black cat on halloween as opposed to the Minister for Magic. Her cries were muffled around his tie, lost in layers of silk and batting, and she was suddenly thankful for his forethought. 

Wave after wave, her orgasm washed over her, like an endless high tide churning the sea. His fingers crooked and curled inside her, drawing out her pleasure until she reached down and pushed his head away.

Her chest heaved, the steady rise and fall matching the rapid thump of her heart, and though she couldn’t properly breathe with his tie in her mouth, Hermione couldn’t find the energy within her to pull it from her lips.

She slumped in her chair, boneless and sedated. Her skirt stayed rucked around her waist, thighs lewdly spread. 

“Exquisite as always, Minister.” Draco pressed a kiss against each of her thighs before she felt the brush of his starched oxford rub against her skin as he rose before it. With a gentle tug, he slowly worked his tie from her lips until it fell from the confines of her mouth. “Will you be home on time tonight?”

Hermione cracked open her eyes, watching through slivers of vision as Draco tucked the tie in his trouser pocket. His fringe hung across his brows, disheveled and carefree, creating an almost youthful appearance to the wizard who typically looked anything but. 

Even at the tender age of eleven, he was always so stern. Like he’d bore that trademark scowl from birth. It had taken years before she even saw a glimpse of a smile in their youth, and it wasn’t until they’d been married for nearly two months before she witnessed the dazzling brilliance of his real grin. 

“Uh… I think so.” She stood on shaky legs, adjusting the elastic bands that held her stockings in place before stooping to retrieve her discarded knickers off the floor. “I have a meeting with the President Quahog—”

“Oh wonderful.” 

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, clearly it’s not  _ nothing _ .” Hermione leaned against her desk, hip pressing into the edge as she crossed her arms over her chest. She waited, lips pursed until Draco’s gaze finally found her and with a slow quirk of her brow he finally cracked.

“I’m just not a fan of him, alright?” Draco’s hand was in hair, a heavy sigh working up his throat.

“Oh please, Draco. Sam is quite pleasant.” Hermione waved her hand in front of her. “I know you’re not a fan of American’s but you really ought to—”

“No, I’m not a fan of men who eye my wife.”

A sharp laugh worked up her throat, some sort of involuntary reaction that she was incapable of controlling. “I’m sorry, what? Sam would never. He’s married!”

“Ah yes, because American’s are  _ notorious _ for remaining faithful.” Draco’s lips thinned, clearly the notion of her defending the American President was strumming nerves she didn’t realise were strained. “Just… wear your robes and—”

She should find his edict childish, and insulting. Even if Samual was remotely inappropriate with her, she would never accept his advances. She was the bloody Minister for Magic, and married to not one, but two fit wizards who were infamous in their own right.

But she couldn’t help but find it slightly endearing, seeing the way he was concerned, and rather funny. Because if Draco had thought some blue eyed American might stand a chance at stealing her affections, well he had another thing coming.

“—just you know… button them up.” His hand lifted in a lazy gesticulation to the base of his throat, long fingers hovering at the small divot where his clavicles met.

“Whatever you say.” Hermione shook her head as she slipped back on her heels. “I would very much like to point out how utterly sexist your request is.”

“Noted.”

“And I do hope you know I will likely not listen.”

“I am keenly aware of your inability to listen.”

“ _ And _ that we will discuss this later, at home, as a family.”

“Seriously? Is that really necessary?”

“Yes.” Hermione smoothed her hands across her blouse as she closed the short distance between her and her husband. “If only to prove your concerns are invalid.”

Draco’s hand found her waist, as if on instinct. He guided her to him. “And what if Potter agrees?”

“He won’t.”

“Mmm.” His hand moved across her lower back, fingers curling with the base of her spine, resting just on the beginning swell of her backside. “We’ll see.”

Leaning up on her toes, she pressed a chaste kiss against Draco’s cheek, just the hint of stubble brushing over her lips as she lowered back down onto her heels. “We shall.” Hands smoothed his oxford against his broad shoulders. “I’ll try to be home by seven.”

“Six.” Draco countered, gray eyes flickering between her lips and her gaze.

“Six-thirty.”

“We’re having sea bass.”

After four years of marriage, it really was no wonder he knew exactly what to say to persuade her to listen. Her stomach immediately grumbled and she narrowed her eyes in a knowing look before sighing. “Six.”

Draco’s lips curled in a victorious smile that instantly ate at her pride, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss against her forehead before slipping his arm around about her waist. “I’ll see you later, Minister.”

She bit her bottom lip, standing frozen in the middle of her office as she watched him saunter to her office door with an aura of arrogance that both excited, and drove her mad. When he slipped from her office, she finally felt free from his spell and made her way back to her chair. “Right… where was I.” She murmured, shuffling through the now chaotic state of her desk to find the briefing she’d been reviewing before Draco’s unexpected visit.

* * *

“Shit, shit, shit.”

She was late.

She was fucking late.

It wasn’t like she didn’t try to end the meeting on time. She had, really! But they were finally making progress on upsurge in magical related anomalies that had begun to occur in growing numbers and she couldn’t call it short, could she? 

What would she have even said?  _ Sorry, Sam. I’ve got to pop out, my husbands are making sea bass, and I’ve been so bloody busy lately I really ought to be home. _ It wasn’t exactly professional, nevermind the fact that her continued marriage to two wizards was still somewhat controversial outside of the European and British Ministries. 

“Minister!” Her assistant squeaked as she burst into her office, nearly overturning a teacup in her shock. “Your husbands—”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Hermione winced, tossing the thick magenta file in her ‘for review’ basket that sat on the edge of Aoife’s desk. “I’m late. I swear I am heading home now.”

“Well, yes you are but—”

“Look, unless someone important is either dead, or back from the dead this must wait until tomorrow.” Hermione was shrugging out of her Ministerial robes, trying her best to detangle her wand from the inner pocket in her haste to try and get all work related items off her person before she used the hearth to get home. “Don’t bother with my notes tonight, I have some things to add in the morning and I can just transpose them myself. You really ought to head home yourself, it’s rather late.”

“Thank you, Minister. I just think you really—”

“Aoife,  _ please _ , if I spend another second here I am fairly certain Draco might actually flay me.”

“Oh, I have no intention of flaying you, though other things do come to mind.” The crisp voice cut across her office sitting area, immobilizing her as her mind raced to catch up. Her hands hung mid air, still curled around the heavy robes, and very slowly she turned to look towards her office door where Draco stood leaning against the frame. “You’re two hours late, Minister.”

His sleeves were rolled up his forearms, sinewy muscles revealed, as well as the inky black mark that tainted his alabaster skin—one that he was still so ashamed of so many years later. If there was anyone more in her office than just Aoife, Hermione held no doubts he would have it hidden under a glamor, or his sleeve, but her assistant had been with Hermione for the past four years, and they all trusted the witch, implicitly.

“ _ Technically _ , it’s seven fourty eight.” Harry walked up behind Draco, a crooked smile splitting his lips as he looped an arm over Draco’s shoulder. The Boy Who Lived. Head Auror Harry Potter. One half of the men she married, and one third of the Granger-Potter-Malfoy clan. “So she’s only an hour and three quarters late.”

“Sod off, Boy-Wonder.”

Harry winked at Hermione when a small laugh bubbled up her throat, before he leaned in to press a kiss against the high of their husbands cheek. “Love you too, darling.” Harry narrowly missed Draco’s dismissive push, slipping away from him as quick as a snitch so he could make his way towards her. “But, he is right. You are more than just a tad late, ‘Mione.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Her shoulders sagged, the weight of their disappointment settling in like a millstone in the center of her chest. She hung her robes on the golden rack before turning towards her husband.

His arms wrapped around her, easing her into his embrace and he pressed a series of kisses on the crown of her head, as he always did.

Her arms wound around his middle, fingers sinking into the softness of his shirt. Her eyes drifted closed as the intoxicating scene of her long-time best friend filled her senses. It was hard to think of a time where she ignored the pull of his magic, and denied the feeling of how perfectly they fit together.

Once, she’d told herself it was nothing—that this feeling he created within her with just a single look was nothing more than friendship. It had taken nearly a decade, and a marriage law to prove it untrue.

Well, that, and a very convincing blond third in their union.

“Productive meeting?” Harry’s voice was as soft as silk, weaving through the guilt that had plagued her every time the minute hand strayed further from six pm. 

“Very.” She nodded.

He hummed, fingers kneading the muscles at the base of her neck. “Important?”

She nodded again.

“He’s a bit sore, but you know he’ll forgive you, right?”

Logically, yes. She  _ knew _ this, but she also knew Draco was stubborn. His love for her was breathtaking, but it wasn’t kind at times. It was earned, fought over, and bitter. Sharply lined over years of not knowing what it truly meant to be in love and be loved. It had taken years to dull the razors edge of his insecurities, and even longer for him to admit he actually loved his partners.

Love wasn’t easy for Draco. It was never kind, and certainly not something that was shown beyond maternal love. 

She wanted to believe Harry, that Draco would look past her broken promises of being home on time—because Nimue only knew this was not the first time this had happened, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, and come to accept how her new position meant her time was a little less predictable, and harder to come by.

“Are you two just going to stand there all night?” 

Hermione lifted her head, peeking over Harry’s shoulder to watch as their husband spun around to disappear into her office. She chewed her lip, trying her best to ignore the twisting knot forming in her stomach.

It wasn’t like he was going to leave her, not over something so trivial, but she hated the feeling of disappointment from someone—especially someone she loved.

Praise kink. That’s what Ginny called it. Hermione thrived under praise. It made her heart race, her stomach flop and clip the very breath in her lungs into shallow pulls. That tingle of bliss from something as simple as being told she’d done a good job, or they were proud of her was enough to set her on cloud nine for hours.

But the inverse was dreadful.

She feared disappointment from Harry and Draco more than anything in the world. 

If the public wasn’t a fan, so be it. If Ron was pissed—well, when wasn’t he lately? But her husbands?

“Best get this over with then.” Hermione gulped down the rising lump in her throat, and with one last kiss pressed against Harry’s cheek, she slipped from his grasp to follow Draco into her office for what she’d imagined was going to be a rather lengthy tongue lashing.

She’d expected a vindictive stare.

She expected him to be perched on the edge of her desk, lips turned down in a frown.

She expected a very upset husband. 

What she did not expect, however, was her office to be transformed. 

Her breath stalled in her lungs, eyes widening in the low light as she drank in the scene before her.

In place of her desk was a round square table with crisp white linens, A single candle flickered in the middle of a floral centerpiece, casting shadows on the polished basting covers that hide plates beneath them. Small wooden chairs replaced her leathered furniture, and thick swaths of cream and burgundy fabric draped her decorated walls to create an illusion of being inside a tent. Fairy lights twinkled in the canopy, offering the only light outside of the candle’s flame.

“Wh… what?” Her voice quivered, light and breathy, she spun to look at Harry who was closing her office door. He only lifted his shoulders in a lackadaisical shrug before gesturing toward Draco.

“Since you making it home at a decent hour is practically impossible, the best course of action was to bring dinner to you.” He spoke as if it was so obvious, that turning her office into some sort of romantic tent was not only completely normal, but the only solution to this recurring problem. 

“Thank Merlin Potter perfected his Stasis while you lot gallivanted around the woods during seven yeath or our sea bass would be cold and lifeless.” With a slow wave of his hand over the table, the silver basting covers vanished to reveal steamy plates of food.

Harry snorted, slipping past Hermione on his way to the table. “I wouldn’t exactly call it gallivanting, love.” His hands curled around the back of a chair. “But thank you for the compliment.”

“Your welcome.”

A watery laughed bubbled up her throat just as two tears made their way down her cheeks. “I… Your… This is—” Normally eloquent, Hermione fumbled to find the words that could put meaning to this burst of happiness that swirled inside, but there didn’t seem to be a single phrase in her vocabulary that would properly explain how she felt. 

So she did the only thing she could think of. She crossed the room, heels clipping with each hurried step and she wrapped her arms around Draco’s middle, pulling her husband close.

He went rigid, spine straightening under the warmth of her embrace but soon his arms moved around her, returning the gesture and he leaned down to press a soft kiss against her temple. 

“Thank you.” Hermione murmured into his chest, fingers curling into the back of oxford. “I don’t deserve you—either of you.”

“Aw, don’t say that ‘Mione.” Harry tisked across the table.

“I hate to say this, but I do agree with Potter.” Draco tipped head back with a crooked finger under her chin, gray eyes smoldering down at her with a fondness that he normally kept hidden beneath a cooled exterior. “Though, if you make me wait a second longer to eat, I might change my mind.”

**Author's Note:**

> hello lovelies.
> 
> today is evil author day, so I thought i'd drop the first chapter to an upcoming work. it is **unbeta'd** so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> my alpha for this action adventure is the sublime [misdemeanor1331](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misdemeanor1331/pseuds/Misdemeanor1331)! check out her works, she is fucking amazing. seriously so good.
> 
> this will be incoming in spring 2021. drop me a note and lemme know what you think.
> 
> find me on facebook.
> 
> until next time. xx


End file.
